


Respite

by thejerseydevile



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anal Sex, Bottom!Thorin, Desk Sex, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 00:26:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2831477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejerseydevile/pseuds/thejerseydevile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, storms the peaceful solitude that is Bilbo's study for a rousing bout of sexual intercourse with his husband. Thank goodness for sturdy, dwarrow-made desks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [diemarysues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/gifts).



> A rather smutty gift for a certain enabler, and because I continue to cry about BOTFA ;') Let's pretend it all works out for the better

It was unusually early for Thorin to return to their chambers for the evening.

 

Or well, Bilbo _assumed_ it was Thorin.

 

Sometimes, the boys made just as much of a ruckus when they came tramping in, sniffing around for sweets or to escape from the responsibilities of statecraft foisted upon them. It certainly wasn’t Mari; he sent his personal scribe home early so that she could visit the market before closing time, and the clever young dwarrowdam had a _much_ lighter step and conveniently announced her presence thanks to the bells woven into her braids.

 

Indeed, whoever-it-was seemed to be rummaging about from outside Bilbo’s study, grumbling and stomping up and down the hall.

 

“Thorin?” Bilbo called.

 

“Yes, _ghivasha_?” Came Thorin’s answer from their spacious (somewhat echo-y) solar, and Bilbo relaxed. But, he made no move to get up and greet him—not yet anyroad—he wasn’t just a Consort in title and had taken on the burden of accounting for the family’s expenses quite seriously. And with the upcoming winter feast to celebrate their newest sapphire seam in five years, there was still quite a bit of calculations, menu planning, and invitations to sort out before the end of the month…

 

“Oh, just checking! You’re home rather early, love!”

 

And with that mystery solved, Bilbo returned to his task, head bent over his desk as he scratched at his work. Three crates of onions, and the apples from storage were a bit mealy but they would do just fine baked in great big pies…

 

“Ach, and are you disappointed that I’m here so soon?” Thorin asked as he peeked into Bilbo’s study. He raised his head then, if only to admire the picture his husband and king made—long dark and silver hair, the braids and beads, the fur coat, and yes, even the boots—the way his bright blue eyes shined in quiet mirth, the hint of smile hidden underneath his beard. “Should I leave and return at another, later hour so as not to disturb your strict, scheduled solitude, my hobbit?”

 

Bilbo rolled his eyes, fond.

 

“Such pretty words, oh King,” he drawled, just as he set his quill aside. “But you know they only work on your fawning advisors: so, how was your day?”

 

“Tiring.”

 

“Well, why don’t you tell me all about it?”

 

“Oh? There’s time to pen in a conversation with your husband before dinner?” Thorin drawled, turning to squint at Bilbo’s engagement tablet hanging proudly in the doorway.

 

“Why yes, it seems we have a whole hour to while away until we are due to make an appearance at the dinner table, a good reason to be good husbands and talk to each other honestly about our feelings, worries, and cares.”

 

Bilbo then gestured to the chair situated in front of his desk, one which was generally reserved for visitors who needed to discuss matters with Bilbo directly. Thorin gratefully sank into it, sprawled out in a most unkingly manner that was reserved for these moments here in their chambers. If anything, the sight of his husband adopting a much more relaxed pose brought a smile to his face, and so Bilbo leaned back in his chair, too, fingers laced across his belly as he waited for the upcoming tirade.

 

But his husband was full of surprises that day, it seemed.

 

Thorin didn't take him on his offer, and from his reclined position he settled down to gaze at Bilbo, that small smile of his still curved upon his lips. It was a pleasing picture—one that Bilbo was quickly suspicious of. He leaned forward, pressing his arms against his desk.

 

“Hm, nothing to say, dearest?”

 

“Indeed, nothing at all.”

 

“ _Indeed_.” Bilbo drawled back.

 

“Well, there is something, I suppose, a very _little_ something,” Thorin conceded. Though hidden by his beard, his grin turned sly, and he raised his hand to rub underneath his chin, considering.

 

“Well then, out with it, Thorin.”

 

“If I must: Master Burglar and Husband Mine, would you be amenable to a rousing bout of sexual intercourse—preferably with my person bent over your desk and your cock buried deep inside—”

 

At this rather lewd (but not unwelcome) suggestion, Bilbo sputtered.

 

“ _Thorin_!”

 

“You _said_ to be honest.”

“And I appreciate that, love, but need I remind you that this private study isn’t necessarily private? And young Mari sits _right over there._ ”

 

“But is Mari present at the moment?” His husband asked innocently, making a show of glancing about. “Have you hidden her in a storage closet? No? Then I am sure it is safe to say that no innocent scribes will be blinded by any unseemly sights.”

 

He had a point.

 

“But we _only_ have an hour,” he reminded his husband.

 

“I am aware.”

 

“Make that less than an hour; you will need to fix those braids of yours good and proper when we’re through.”

 

“Is that a promise?” Thorin asked, hopeful. He leaned in his seat to settle his arms upon the desk, mussing Bilbo’s papers, brushing away his quill, all to reach his hand. He covered it with one big, callused paw, and Bilbo made a point to wind their fingers together with a gentle squeeze.

 

“Oh _yes_ , it’s a promise. One that I intend to make good on—you’ll be quite rumpled by the end of it, if I have my way, love.”

 

Thorin smiled—that heart-stopping soft smile of his—and he pulled Bilbo’s hand to his lips, pressing a reverent kiss to the back. It was a rather tender and sweet touch, one that made Bilbo’s heart beat faster, something fluttery and warm blooming in his chest…

 

“Come then, husband,” he purred, blue eyes dark and hungry. “And make good on your word.”

 

And with that, Bilbo’s poor paperwork, quill, and his ink well were unceremoniously pushed off the desk and tumbled down to the floor and he and his husband made liberal use of the desk surface.

 

But it was a worthy sacrifice, for sure.

They shared heated kisses, first—once the detritus had been cleared, Bilbo made a point of clambering _onto_ the desk, propriety be damned, seated before his husband to drag him close and kiss him soundly. He curled his hands in Thorin’s hair, alternating between scratching lightly at his scalp to tugging at the long stands, thoroughly ruffling his hair as he pleased.

 

And Thorin _loved_ it, moaning deep into their shared kisses edged with the familiar scratch of beard and the pressure of teeth and tongue. His own hands were preoccupied with Bilbo’s sides, stroking up and down his hips, squeezing at the pudge around his hobbit’s middle. Bilbo rolled his hips up impatiently into the touch, and Thorin obliged by hurrying along—they had limited time after all.

 

So he drew away, just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against Bilbo’s as his hands worked efficiently to divest him of his breeches. For his part, Bilbo wiggled and eased his hips up to make the task easier, panting softly himself.

 

“Mm, a little eager tonight, love,” he murmured softly, gripping at his favorite braid settled beside Thorin’s right ear. He tugged on his captured prize, to get his husband’s attention as his soppy old dwarf tossed aside his hobbit’s breeches and scooted his seat forward to be closer to the desk so that he was settled comfortably in between Bilbo’s spread thighs. Bilbo scooted back to try and give Thorin more room—it was a bit awkward, this position, and with Thorin pressed so close to the desk, he worried about his husband’s comfort. “But is this alright? What about your knees—“

 

"More than alright, I've been thinking about this _all_ day," Thorin purred, seemingly undisturbed by the strain on his knees as he pushed right up to the desk. Gently he eased Bilbo’s legs further apart just so, then he leaned forward to mouth a wet spot around Bilbo's smalls and his growing erection--the tease.

 

"O-Oh,” Bilbo breathed, leaning back, propped up by his elbows. Though he knew he could not hold this position for long, he would enjoy the view while it lasted. “And when did you come up with this brilliant idea of yours, dearest?"

 

"Hmm. Some time between Small Court session and while Lord Freyr was discussing the expansion to the western ramparts." Thorin replied. And though any and all commentary about Lord Freyr did wonders to ruin the mood—his husband more than made up for it by pushing down his smalls, just enough to free his cock. Then, he unceremoniously dipped forward to lick a long stripe up Bilbo’s cock from root to tip.

 

" _Tho-orin_." Bilbo moaned helplessly, and he fell back fully to lay sprawled about on the desk. His husband made a pleased noise and got to work, taking him into his mouth to suck eagerly at his erection. Thorin was a wonderfully eager lover, and he ravished Bilbo with such loving attention.

 

There was the ticklish brush of his beard against his heated skin, nuzzling closer as he alternated between sucking and kissing at his cock, working his way up and down. With one hand, he held down Bilbo’s hips, and with the other, he reached down to play with his stones, squeezing and fondling at his leisure. He even drew away to nuzzle lower, taking his heavy sac into his mouth, tugging gently.

 

All Bilbo could do was hold on, panting up at the ceiling as Thorin wrecked him with his tongue alone. He scrambled with his hands to grip again in his his husband’s silky, dark hair, tugging him closer to where he was needed the most. Thorin moaned, the wanton sound sending shivers down his spine, straight to his cock—and without more prompting, sucking him down with intense eagerness and reveling in the way that Bilbo cried out and writhed underneath him.

 

Thorin hummed—pleased—as he bobbed up and down, nearly urging his husband to completion with naught but his warm mouth and the plush press of his tongue. But then—he drew away, letting Bilbo slip free with a rather obscene pop, shaking his head to bat away Bilbo’s clutching fingers. For a moment, Bilbo laid there, floating still on a pleasure-filled high until he realized what exactly his husband was doing—or rather _wasn’t_ doing—

 

“T-This is quite cruel, you realize,“ Bilbo whined, and he pushed himself up to frown peevishly over at Thorin, his poor erection flagging ever so slightly in the sudden chill without his husband looming over him. For his part, Thorin looked completely innocent as he worked at removing his clothing, tossing his coat and his tunic, his boots and breeches willy nilly about the study.

 

“If you recall, husband mine, you said we only have an hour, and I am afraid we’re running out of time—you have yet to fill your oath, and _I_ have yet to be filled.”

 

“Terrible,” Bilbo chided, but still he found the strength to shimmy off the desk, kicking his smalls away as he did so. He finally took stock of his papers and calculations unceremoniously scattered about the floor—and decided to ignore them in favor of the more pleasing sight of his husband in the nude. They shifted positions, then, sharing a kiss along the way as Bilbo kicked back Thorin’s chair, while the dwarf braced himself against the desk, legs spread in eager anticipation of what was to come next.

 

“Mm, now this is a pretty picture—but some slick would make it better—“

 

“ _Ach_ , it’s still in my pocket—“

 

Bilbo sighed; of course it would be in the jacket he threw about halfway across the room. But Bilbo was, if anything, a good husband and so he trotted over to the discarded furs, digging around to feel for the bottle. Ah, so that was why his dwarf was making such a ruckus outside; he must have taken a detour to their bedroom to grab it before marching over to the study.

 

He padded back to Thorin, pouring slick over his fingers along the way, before he lined himself up with the broad back of his husband. Thorin spread his legs a bit wider obligingly, and Bilbo leaned in to press his chest flush to Thorin’s back.

 

“Mm, we don’t have much time,” Thorin murmured, glancing back over his shoulder over at his husband.

 

“You’re fine with quick?”

 

“If you can be rough, _ghivasha_.”

 

“As my King commands,” Bilbo sighed, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to his shoulder. And then, he reached down with his slick fingers, trailing between the cleft of Thorin’s firm ass to reach for his entrance, pressing no more than the tip of his index finger against the puckered skin. His husband sighed and swiveled his hips back into the touch, demanding for more with a soft, impatient little huff. Without further ado, Bilbo slipped this first finger inside, followed by another, and then a third, pumping and pushing to loosen him up. His free hand trailed down Thorin’s side, fluttering across his taut stomach and down, down, down to squeeze his cock, pumping in time with the thrust of his fingers.

 

His husband cried out, scrabbling at the desk for a better hold. Then, he rocked his hips backwards onto Bilbo’s fingers, then forward into the warmth of his hand, all the while chanting his name softly in a growing crescendo—it was enough to send another surge of heat straight to his cock as he sunk into that tight, delicious heat.

 

“Are you ready then, Thorin?” He breathed, taking in the sight of his husband spread out for him, eager for _more_.

 

“Yes, yes, yes, _please_ , Bilbo—“

 

Bilbo leaned forward to press another gentle kiss to his shoulder. “As my King commands,” he breathed once more, just as he fumbled for more of the slick, pouring a generous amount on his own cock, then lining himself again with Thorin’s entrance to push _in_.

 

Thorin was hot, hotter than a forge, hotter than dragon-fire—and he had no reservations about letting Bilbo know how _good_ it felt to be claimed like _this_. He started up a litany of sorts, growling softly in heated _khuzdul_ as Bilbo began to pick up a brutal pace; they needed to be quick and his husband had asked for it to be rough and Bilbo always did only aim to please. He grunted and braced himself, using both hands to grab at Thorin’s hips as he thrust into him, pushing down to bend him over the desk as he fucked into his husband’s rather pliant body.

 

For his part, the dwarf king came undone, shameless as he tossed his head back and cried out. He gripped tight at the (poor) desk, each thrust sending his cock bobbing forward and the sturdy wood underneath his white knuckles shifting just a bit with their frantic movements. His steady stream of curses and praise eventually drifted into Westron for Bilbo’s benefit, a happy babble of “I love you’s” crossed with demands for Bilbo to move “Harder”, “Faster—just like _that_.” And Bilbo, being the ever dutiful and loving Consort to his dwarrow husband, did just that.

 

(And thank goodness for sturdy, dwarrow-made desks; no other piece of furniture could hold up with this sort of abuse)

 

Eventually, Bilbo drew one hand back from his waist, reaching around again to wrap about Thorin’s otherwise cock and pump in time with his thrusts—spurned on by the wonderful sounds his husband made and the knowledge that they would not have enough time to make themselves presentable again if they didn’t finish soon. Still, what a beautiful sight his husband made, writhing beneath him as they made love and coming apart from his touch alone—it was a moment to be surely savored.

 

“That’s it, Thorin, come for me, my love—I’ve got you—“

 

It didn’t took much more than that—a well timed squeeze followed by two steady thrusts—and then Thorin spilled into Bilbo’s cupped hand, with one last strangled cry. He slumped forward, panting and slid his eyes closed as Bilbo’s movements turned frantic, pushing in harder, and deeper, as Thorin fluttered and clenched around him, drawing him until Bilbo found his own peak deep inside. Bilbo fell forward then on a rather accommodating dwarrow pillow, panting against Thorin’s shoulder, feeling boneless and utterly content.

 

Idly, he reached up with his free hand—stroking through Thorin’s tussled locks, scratching gently at his scalp—and the tender touch was enough to rouse Thorin from post-coital haze.

 

“Mmm,” Thorin hummed, considering.

 

“Mmm?”

 

“We could skip dinner, you know.”

 

“ _Thorin_.“ A hobbit skipping dinner? The very idea!

 

“We have little time to try to primp and polish ourselves to be presentable in front of our guests and countrymen.”

 

It was an utter lie, of course, they had plenty of time to relax, stumble off the desk on shaky legs, perhaps wipe down in the bathroom and change into new clothing before the dinner bell. But Thorin chose this moment to glance back over his shoulder, pinning Bilbo with those blue eyes of his and ah—there was that small smile hidden beneath his beard, accented by the high flush to his cheeks, and that hopeful little look that held such love and _promise_.

 

“ _Ah_ , as my King commands…”


End file.
